


Sorry

by UltimateFangirl05



Category: sorry - Fandom
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cliche, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, References to Depression, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 17:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12635622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFangirl05/pseuds/UltimateFangirl05
Summary: No one likes me anyway. It doesn't matter if people dislike me now, or later. They'll always end up hating me in the end. Always.Music brings a sense of familiarity, but that's not always a good thing. There are some things that are best to be forgotten along with all of the other memories.





	1. Music

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story a while ago on my Wattpad (UltimateFangirl05). It is still going and has slow updates. I will try my best to update regularly but I can't guarantee anything. I have a big plan for this story and though it may start off sad, and be sad in the middle, and be sad near the end, the conclusion will hopefully be happy.

I've always hated Sunday. Most kids hate Monday, or Tuesday, people find it strange that I dislike the weekends. Most people don't understand me anyways. And by most people, I mean everyone.

I carefully finish the final details on my drawing. The light pencil sketch is of the trees outside of my old house. Tall, strong, they never would wither or die. They carry on, no matter what mother nature throws at them. I sometimes wish I was a tree so I could be strong, physically, and mentally. In the drawing, the sky is shaded in with light pencil strokes. You can see every cloud in the perfect shade of white. I look the drawing over, knowing that I will hang it up on the wall of my bedroom. I sigh and look up.

I'll never see my house again. I'll never see Emma or Jake. They seemed to understand me. Well, at least I think they did. Anyways, it doesn't matter anymore. They never really got to know me. No one does. Every time I start to get to know someone, I'm whisked away to a new home, in a completely new area, and must start all over again.

I peer out the glass pane that was beside my seat. looking outside, I glance down at the small landscape below me, I can see almost everything. I see row after row of snow-capped mountains below us, trees and the small village that lies up ahead. I start to feel sick and dizzy from looking out the window. I avert my eyes from the glass and look down the aisle of the small plane.

It is a very small airplane. There are only about twenty people in total. I try to remember the name of the place we were going. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure that my mom never told me. All I remember her telling me was that it is a small town just a few miles out of a big city.

Bored of sitting around, I decide it would be better to listen to some music. I reach my hand into my oversized hoodie and pull out my small white ear buds and my phone. Music has always seemed to calm me. It brings a sense of familiarity wherever I go, I always have it with me. Every time that I must move, my music seems to be the only thing that can keep me sane. Music is one of my ways to escape from the rest of the world.

Our song started coming through the ear buds. Most people would say that it's a calm, beautiful song. But the song has a much deeper meaning to me. It reminds me of the good times. Sleepovers with Jake, late night strolls, adventures in the forest.

But it also saddens me. It upsets me. It makes me remember all the long nights I've spent alone in my room, listening to this song for hours on repeat, trying to block out the continuous hum of life. It never seems to work though. I still end up crying myself to sleep regardless.

I change the song quickly, not wanting to be reminded of him. I always find myself listening to different songs when I move. Music brings a sense of familiarity, but that's not always a good thing. There are some things that are best to be forgotten along with all the other memories.

I'm sitting in the plane waiting to get up and leave, being that Serena and I are sitting at the very back and must wait for the other passengers to get their carry-ons from the overhead compartments. I always have my carry-on resting on my lap, I feel uncomfortable having it out of my sight.

Thank god Serena, being the kind caregiver that she is, took a plane to our new home just last week and already took all our important belonging ahead of time. It would be a real pain in the neck to have to load our other stuff into her car.  
I am interrupted out of my thoughts by a question I’m surprised Serena hadn’t asked earlier.

"I just don't understand why you would rather me call you Christopher or Fer. Why do you hate your name, Adam?" Just thinking of the name Adam sends shivers down my spine. I clench my fists and use the breathing techniques my old therapist taught me.  
Some people don't know what a trigger is. People make it seem like something funny, something to be made fun of. Some people suffer from the crude jokes about triggers or depression that people make. You see, it's something hard to recover from. Some people can be triggered by the smallest or oddest things. The reason I get triggered by my birth name is more personal than you would think.

"Sorry Serena, it's none of your business," I sigh with a frustrated tone in my voice.

Serena can be irritating sometimes, I can put up with it. She's been with me since I moved. Of all the times I’ve moved, I never could speak to anyone. Serena is different. I ignored her for the most part of this trip. I've been so lost in my thoughts and memories, that I almost forgot I wasn't alone.

Serena is in her late twenties, that’s too young, in my opinion, to dedicate your life to teenage orphans. I don't understand why she would rather put up with me than go get a cozy home, a husband, even kids. It wouldn’t be hard for her to find a lover. She's a very pretty woman. She has long moose brown hair that she usually wears tucked behind her ears in soft curls or in armpit length braids. She's pretty and all, but she’s definitely not my type and even if she was, I wouldn't want to drag her into my messed-up life more than Is absolutely necessary.

Sorry is something I find myself saying far too many times. It has become a habit to me. Something I can't stop myself from doing, so why even try. Most people would say that it's not that bad. Or they'd say that it's just my inner Canadian coming out. It might not sound as bad as it really is. I don't see it as that big of a deal, cause why would it be.

When the young couple in front of us finally get their bags out of the compartment, might I add, with the help of three strangers, we finally start heading down the rows of leather seats. We pass two young stewardesses and the man who I assume is the captain. If I would have seen him when we had boarded the plane, I would have been worried. He looks rather young and around Serena’s age.

The captain wishes us a good day as we exit the plane onto the chilly air bridge. Surrounded by strange humming sounds Serena and I push our way through into the terminal.


	2. Collision

The airport may be small, but there are lots of people scurrying in separate directions, trying to catch their respective flights. Compared to all the other airports I have been at, this one is by far the smallest and the most crowded. Being in a crowded place is sometimes an advantage. It means it's less likely that I'll be noticed.

I can see people staring at me. Maybe it's my faded dirty blonde hair, which I had dyed a few months ago? My hair has always been a shade of brown slightly darker than Serena’s. I have dyed it so many strange colors and I finally wanted to stick with one.

Perhaps it's my dark, sunken, eyes they are looking at? I haven't been able to sleep for a while, causing my eyes to look tired all the time and for me to have bags forming underneath.

Maybe it's the scars and bruises covering my collarbone from four years ago when my dad caused me to end up in the hospital? I quickly adjust my hoodie to make sure no one can see below my neck.

I haven't even been here for five minutes and people already think I'm strange. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid and perturbed. I get anxiety about the smallest things in life. When will I just realize that It doesn't matter if people dislike me now, or later? That they will always end up hating me in the end. Whether I make a good first impression or not. It's the same wherever I go. No matter how far I fly, I'll never be able to outrun the fact that I don't belong anywhere.

 

I feel my chest drop. I lay sprawled on the cold, tile ground. My backpack lays near my left leg. Someone has tripped me, or maybe I fell, I can't be so sure anymore. Iit doesnt make that big of a difference. I look around trying to catch a glimpse of who had done the deed. Two teenagers around my age are walking away from me laughing and high fiving each other. I was about to yell at them when surprisingly, someone grabs my hand and helps me off the floor.

"Are you alright?" Questions the boy. He seems nice enough. But most people seem nice enough at first, it was who they would become that tells their true character.  
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," I reply, staring into his wide, caring eyes.

He helps me off the cold floor of the airport and picks up my backpack. Once on my feet, I realize how tall and strong he is. He stands nearly a head taller than me. He looks like he would be friends with the boys that tripped me being that he is wearing a black varsity jacket with gray sleeves, that resemble the jackets that the two teenagers were wearing.

He looks down at me, being that I am small and skinny for my age. His eyes are breathtaking. They are amber with a darker ring around the iris. They aren’t a normal shade of amber, I quickly realize. They have little flecks of gold and silver mixed, making a disk around the pitch-black pupil. They are very interesting eyes. Had we met under any other circumstances, I would have complimented them. Of course, no homo though. 

"Oh yeah, guess I forgot to introduce myself. My name is James," he says smiling, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle. "So, mystery person, what's your name?"

You know when you are so lost in your own thoughts that the entire world around you appears to go silent except for a soft buzz. If not, then lucky you. I have experienced it multiple times. But this time is different. It's not as bothersome as the other times.

I don't want him to see my eyes. The light green they used to be has become clouded over leaving me with a gray-green eye color. That’s not the main reason though. I don't want him to see how tired I am. Or the large scar beside my left eye.

"My name is Fer. Sorry but I have got to go," I say grabbing my washed out indigo bag from his hands, hurriedly trying to conceal the look of both frustration and pain.

"Okay, see you around then Fer," laughs James, with a slightly worried look in his eye

Realizing that Serena is waiting for me I adjust my hoodie again and throw one of my backpack straps over my shoulder. I jog over to the terminals doorway taking a backwards glance, but, unsurprisingly, James is no longer there. I chide myself for getting nervous and flinchy just because of a teenage boy, and step through the automatic doors into the harsh sunlight.


	3. Isolation

"Finally, I thought you might have gotten lost," Serena sighed 

I lift myself into the vehicle and sit on the cold leather seat. I take my time putting my backpack between my legs to think of an answer to Serena’s question.

Being quick at coming up with my answer is something I am skilled at doing. Even though this is a small situation, I feel the need to lie about it. I know my lies are building up; faster than you might think. I'm surprised people listen to me at all.

"Sorry, I bumped into some random person," I lie, looking down at my brown leather boots and pretending to be embarrassed.

She rolls her soft, but tired, blue eyes, "Fine I'll let you off this time, just don't do it again we need to hurry." 

She has always been so patient with me. For all my flaws, she seems to find the best parts and highlight them, ignoring the rest. She is the stars in my murky world, not quite the brightest object but still helping me see the way.

Lying is something that I have been doing far too often. Even when it is not necessary, my first instinct is to bend the truth into something that it's not. There's nothing wrong with little white lies. Honestly, it started as a few small untruths, insignificant things, but they've started to build up. Now every single one of my lies has become a swarm of bees trying to drag me to its shadowy depths. A million droplets of water have turned into an ocean that has begun to erode my rocky mind. Sometimes I think the reason I lie so much, is the belief that if I say it enough, I'll start to believe it myself. And for the most part, it seems to be working.

I let my thoughts wander off like they usually do, staring out the passenger seat window. I carefully keep my mind away from my friends and my family that only visits a few times a year. Even while I try to keep my mind away, I end up thinking of my family anyways. My dad. He is pretty much all that I have. When he does visit he does nothing but throw me dirty looks. Or worse.

Our new house is only about 20 minutes from the airport. I spend the ride trying not to boil to death, in the oven that was the back seat of the Civic. It is a lot warmer here than it was in Canada. I miss Canada. I miss the cold. I miss the wildlife. I miss the friends. I miss everything about it, the good, and the bad. Now that we've moved I wish that I had appreciated everything that I had a little more. Everything that I had taken for granted, I now ache for. I guess the saying, “You never you know you love something until it's gone”, is true. I hate it when we are forced to move.

The ride to our new place feels like hours when, it is only 20 minutes. Time has always seemed like an odd concept to me. I mean why use something that doesn't even exist to measure our entire lives. Every moment of our existence can be explained and classified, into units of our own making.

It isn't something that can be moved, picked up, tossed, or changed in any way. Time is humans feeble attempt at categorizing our universe. People always need to feel more powerful than things, and a way to do that is understanding it. We occupy such a high place in the food chain, yet can do so little on our own. We rely on others help to make changes bigger than ourselves. Why? Humans need feel dominant has no logical answer, other than to tend to our own flimsy pride.

I have been so focused in on my thoughts that I haven't even noticed that we’ve pulled into the driveway. I have the tendency to do that, get lost in my thoughts. For all my ramblings about time, I have never seemed to have the best grasp of it. Moments can feel like hours and sometimes hours like seconds. But I realize that no matter how slow or fast it passes, I still find myself wondering if I have been wasting it.

I gaze upon our new residence from the car's window. Guess this is where I'll been living from now on, or at least till we move again. Which I have learned, is always too soon.


	4. War

The rental house is white with gray trimmings. There are multiple windows, most being on the bottom floor, but having one large window on the second floor. Even though it has two stories it would only be big enough for us and maybe another person. While looking for houses, Serena had told me that we were only looking for a house for a place to stay for maybe a year before we find me a foster family who I could settle in with

I open the door leading to the generic rental house. It's just like all the other houses we've rented. Cheap, old, and not somewhere I want to be. I shudder as I enter the air-conditioned house.

"Hey Adam, why not take off that sweater? You look rather fevered and you have been wearing it for two weeks straight," asks Serena.

"No," I reply without any hesitation. "I'd prefer to keep it on. Thank you for asking though."

Serena looks at me with her pale, tired eyes. I realize now that this move was just as hard on her as me. I take her optimism for granted, and because of that, I have been ignoring the fact that she has her own problems as well.

"Okay Adam, just let me wash it before your school starts," she replies in a motherly tone. She is always so caring. Even when I don't take care for myself, she always found a way to.

What is even the point of going to school? It's like an endless loop. Day after day of the same thing. It never used to be like this. It was different when I was settled in with a nice home, kind family, and not having to move because of my "problems". On the outside, it appears that I don't care or that things don't bother me. I make it seem that way. But really, I'm dying on the inside.

The worst thing is when the title wave that is building up in my head crashes when it's least expected, catching me by surprise. These are the times that I cannot control my anger, thoughts, or even actions. Those times leave me locked in my room, and often with reminders of the experience.

Once again, I’m abruptly jolted out of my own thoughts. I walked into a freaking wall. I really need to be more aware of my surroundings. I decide it would be a promising idea to give myself a house tour, which is not nearly as depressing as it sounds.

There is a total of three bathrooms. One on the main floor, and two upstairs. The second upstairs bathroom is connected to the master bedroom, in which Serena will be sleeping. There are three bedrooms as well, but only two of which have mattresses on the beds. Being that Serena already claimed the larger room, I pick the only other option.

As I open the faded door and step into my new room, I notice that It isn’t as bad as I had imagined. It is small, compared to most people's rooms and It's only able to fit a single spruce bed with a white dresser beside it. A door is shoved into the corner, that leads to a tiny closet.

I try to think positive when I'm in these type of situations, but positivity tends to lead to confusion. Confusion leads to sadness, and sadness leads to loneliness. Which is by far, the worst.

For most of my life, I've been lonely. But just because I feel it often doesn't mean I've grown unaccustomed to it. Loneliness is the worst emotion anyone could feel. While anger is a burning heat and sadness is a shivering cold, loneliness is an insatiable ache. A bottomless void that can never be filled. Loneliness is an absence of anything, and everything. I've been trapped myself in my mind, and while that does stop others from hurting me, it also stops them from freeing me from the trap of my own devising.

There is a war going on my head. A battle of two armies, clashing with my mind as the battleground. An endless turmoil, waning and growing like a moonlit tide. And no matter which side won, I am always the one who loses.


	5. Familiarity

My new room is painted in an ugly shade of gray. The paint is starting to peel off of the walls, leaving a pale shade of tan underneath. I notice that Serena had placed my boxes were filled with my belongings on the old worn-down bed frame.

Serena has 7 or 8 boxes filled with her stuff, while I on the other hand, only have two boxes which were filled with band posters and my CDs. I never bring much whenever I move, because somethings will never belong in this new place. Memorabilia of happy times in a now distant land. Bringing them here would just ruin them, like a coin in water rusts and disintegrates over time. It's much better to let them live on simply in memory and preserve whatever they would have brought with them. Cause nothing brought to a land they were never meant to be in lasts long, myself included.

I reach my hand into the box and pulled out my favorite album. It was Use Your Illusion II, by Guns N’ Roses. Most people would say That it's just an obsession with a band. It is, but there is a lot more meaning behind it than you might think. Every word that is put into the songs has a value. I can relate to each one of the words. These songs are like a close friend to me. I can understand the song without much thought. I wish that I remember what it was like to have somebody that would miss you if you were gone. On the outside, I will say things like "go away" or "leave me alone" while on the inside I want to scream "stay" and "don't leave me".

I think I do this because I want to find someone who doesn't care what I say on the outside, and instead pull me out of the net I've tangled myself in. I want to find someone who cares enough to rip down the barriers I've created and love me.

No one would understand the demons in my head. They have taken over my life. They will come back to me no matter what. If something bad happens or even after something good happens, they will come back to me and overwhelm me with emotions. 

If I do manage to defeat them, they get angry and come back twice as hard as before. No matter what I try, they will never leave for good. The problem is not their existence, but the fact that they have become such a big part of my being. If I try to rip them away, they'll leave a gaping hole that I don't know how to fill. I don't know which one of the two is worse. And maybe I don't I want to find out. So, they endure, tormenting my already fractured existence.

I hang up a couple of my favorite posters. The posters on my wall make the room look safer, friendlier even. I missed that feeling. It feels like a soft blanket, wrapping around my brain giving it a measure of warmth and comfort. I have always craved a form of consistency in my life, something that I can always count on to be there. And these posters and CD's provide just that. An island is the raging waters, the eye of a storm. They bring me comfort. A comfort that only familiarity can provide.

After a while of putting up my band posters and sketches, hanging up my clothes, and arranging my music collection, I finally decide that it's time to explore the small town.


	6. Limerance

I haven't even been in this house for too long and I'm already starting to feel cooped up. I always feel like this when I'm indoors for too long. Bound, leashed, I need to go outside for a bit. Maybe a walk would help? And even if it doesn’t, it would still allow me to get to know my new home. Not the home I know. This could never be home.

I make my way to the rental house’s door and with a twist of a handle I open it. I take a small step outside and close the door behind me, locking it with a click. There are already some chairs and a small patio table on the deck. Serena is so fast at unpacking, I haven't even finished unpacking my room. I guess maybe if I don’t unpack then this might be just a little less real.

Today feels different than yesterday. The crisp air outside is refreshing, rather than gloomy. The frigid air feels as if I just dipped my feet into a slow running river on a sweltering day. I look up the sky to see that it is crystal clear, and though there were a few clouds, they are too small to do harm. The sky is different than yesterday, blue and mellow, rather than grey and cloudy.

I walk along the gravel driveway down to the road. As soon as I was out of sight of the rental house I break into a quick run. Even if I don't look the type, I enjoy running to an unbelievable extent. I run all the way out of my block. All I can see is a blur of different natural colored houses. I start to slow down as I see a park. As I look at the park, I walk slightly more cautious.

There are kids chasing each other around on the playground as the parents talked. The teenagers around my age are all huddled together by the dumpsters. They are obviously a group that I am not welcome in. I continue to walk past, putting my hood up so that no one will talk to me.

I feel something touch my left shoulder. Startled, I nearly jump a meter into the air. I briskly spin around to see the boy I had met at the airport. The one with the pretty amber eyes.

“Sorry for scaring you,” laughs James, “I didn’t know that would startle you that much.”

I release the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. It is just James. I am quite surprised to see him again, I guess it really is a small world. Maybe Disney is sometimes right?

“I recognized you from the airport and I was surprised that you were moving to the same town I live in.” James explains, that goofy smile still on his face.

Still in shock, I look up at his face. Once again, I realize how much taller than me he is, making him seem threatening at first. As soon as my eyes meet his, he seems caring, and kind, rather than threatening.

“Hey, you okay? You’ve been staring into nothing for about 30 seconds,” questions James.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just talking to myself, like always,” I say, mentally cringing, “You must think I'm really weird, and if you do I don’t blame you.”

“You aren’t weird. I think you are perfectly normal, not in a bad way. “James replies, stuttering at the end.

I wonder what James would think if he could hear what went on inside my head. All the pain, whispers, and half-forgotten memories. I wonder if he’d still think I am normal. Probably not. Once people get to know me they leave. I just should make sure James never gets that far.

“Fer? You’re dazing off again. Are you sure you’re ok?” asks James, concerned.

“Yea, I’m fine. I’m just surprised you remembered me, but now I realize it’s kind of hard to forget a guy who looks like me,” I laugh nervously.

James chuckles at my remark

“I guess you’re right. I’m more surprised that you remembered me. I’m basically a printout of a stereotypical teenage jock.” James remarks, jokingly.

What is he talking about? He’s isn’t basic, far from it to be honest. His eyes were like gold plates, and he had a smile that could light up the darkest night. The question wasn’t how could I remember, but how could I forget?

“Fer. You are doing it again,” teases James

“Sorry,” I mumble, noncommittally.

“Don't be”


	7. Beginnings

After I had walked home, I realize that it is starting to get late. I just about forgot that there were classes in the morning as well. Serena has always told me to get a good night's rest, but that never happens. I’ll usually find myself staring at the ceiling until two in the morning, lost in my own thoughts.

Exhausted, I look down at my digital watch. It reads 11:34, which was late, not to mention that the watch is off by two hours because of the time zones. I fix the time on the watch so that it now reads 1:34. I change out of my jeans and hoodie and throw on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a white tee shirt.

I have discovered that wearing a tee shirt to bed is pretty much useless. I always wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat. I usually just take off my shirt and try my best to fall back asleep.

Pulling my warm blanket up to my chin, I finally begin to fall asleep. I don't remember what I was thinking of before I fell asleep, I just know that it was a lot better than most nights.

 

I wake up to the sound of the alarm clock blaring. A mixture of thankfulness, and frustration wash over me. I am thankful that Serena had set the alarm, but at the same time, annoyed because it disrupted my couple hours of sleep I usually get. I got a surprisingly good sleep, I didn’t even wake up in the night. For me, that’s quite rare. Half the time I wake up, I have no idea why.

What was I dreaming about anyway? Not my dad, that's for sure, or any of my other family. I usually dream about them. But sometimes I just dream of faces. Random, blank, emotionless faces.

I pull off my t-shirt and PJ. pants and put on a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. I notice that my hoodie is hanging neatly in my closet. Serena must have washed it. I pull the oversized hoodie over my head. I love my hoodie. Jake gave me this hoodie.  
As I walk down the stairs I smell bacon cooking and buttered toast. I don’t have much time, so I grab a piece of toast, thank Serena, and head out the door.

I start walking in the direction that I had walked yesterday. The school doesn't seem too bad. It is a little bit passed the park that I had walked by. I’m not really paying attention though. My mind is in other places.

 

I know that I’m going to be late so I break into a sprint. When I pass the park I almost expect to run into James. Of course, I'm not as lucky this time. Annoyed at myself, I shake my head. I need to stop thinking about this type of thing. The school is white with a red roof. Many teenagers are running in and out of the school, trying to hand in overdue assignments.

I begin to walk to the large school doors. Serena had told me that my locker number is in my folder that she had given me. I open it and find my locker.

This time will be different. I won't express my feelings. I'll just be quiet and work hard. Maybe I can even hang out with other people my age. It sounds better than the time before last when I just hung out with Ed, the 50-year-old man who lived across the street from me. That kind of creepy now that I think about it. This time will be different, I’m sure.  
I close my locker with a bang and head down the hall to my first class. Once again, I fall into the hole of my own mind. I need to figure this whole thing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a little while until I upload, being that I have had the worst writer's block I've had in some time. Promise I will update again sometime this month and that I WILL NOT give up on this story


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